


Childhood memories

by AuroraDefae



Series: Aubrianna Maren Holmes [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-31
Updated: 2013-07-10
Packaged: 2017-12-07 01:21:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 6,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/742497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuroraDefae/pseuds/AuroraDefae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Had to write to organize "Grand Revenge," but it turned into the Holmes' childhood from the viewpoint of Aubriana Maren Holmes, Sherlock's little sister. After she is taken away from her home by Mrs. Holmes, I might switch POV a bit, but that will only be if i decide to finish this. Describes what possibly drove Sherlock to being a sociopath, explores Mr. & Mrs. Holmes, and provides back story to the Aubri series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Unfinished. Wrote to clarify for "Grand Revenge"

"Sher!"I shout across the rolling grass, giggling.

My brother is rolling down the hill, green stalks tangling in his hair. When Sherlock stands up at the bottom, I see him rocking back and forth, completely dizzy. I run down the hill towards my brother and try to tackle him. Sherlock is five years older than me, and already a foot taller. I breath in his smell of dirt and vanilla as I try to push him over, belly laughing at my efforts.

Eventually, we both fall in a heap, laughing too hard to stand up. Bees lazily buzz around us as we calm down.  
He then leaps up and pretends to stare out across a long distance. Making myself sound breathless in awe, I asks him, "What do you see, Captain Sher?"

He replies in a 'tough' voice, "There be a ship of his royal highness setting sail for us! All men to cannons! We'll burst apart those scallywags!" I wait, knowing an order isn't complete until the Cap'n's signature phrase. "Arg, me sister, what be ye waiting for? Give the order!"

I am turning around to shout out the order to the crew above the howl of the wind when Mycro comes strolling through the grass. "Arg me brother! Seems there be another ship of his royal majesty! They've got us surrounded!"

My brother and I look at each other and once again, we fall down laughing as Mycroft comes up to us. He is frowning, as he usually is, at Sher and I. "Mumsy sent me to find you two. Tea is being boiled, and will be served soon. Mumsy wants you two presentable, like I am." And indeed he is 'presentable'. He is wearing a grey and green button up, sleeves pushed up to his elbow, and a thin grey tie. I grumble, then notice Sherlock sizing up his older brother. I grin, knowing what is coming.

Sherlock suddenly shoots past me, running top speed at Mycro's retreating back. When he is a few feet away, he leaps into the air and tackles Mycro to the ground. A fight ensues, and I run over and leap in, getting a bloody nose.

Eventually, Mycro wriggles out and runs off to tattle to mum. Sher has twisted an ankle, and I let him lean on me as we walked to our home.

The big, shiny white plantation style building soon greets us. Mum is standing out front, with Mycro devilishly lurking behind her. "She is upset with us, but won't punish us as guests are coming soon," Sher whispers to me as we near her. She takes one look at our dirty, grassy clothes and sighs in exasperation before turning around with her hands up in defeat. Sher makes as if to jump on Mycro again, who runs off shouting in fright.  
We enter the house through the front, instantly being admonished by our nanny for tracking dirt in the hallway she had just finished sweeping. She picks up Sher and I, taking us to our rooms to get us ready for yet another boring tea.

After baths, scrubbings, brushings, perfuming (for me) and tantrums, our nanny gets us into crisp clothing starched as if for Sunday church service. My scalp is tingling after having a brush pulled through my knotty hair. I am faring better than my brother, who is literally crying as his hair is tamed. At one point, the nanny jumps back screaming as a grasshopper crawls out of his curly hair. I make a grossed-out face at him, and he cheekily grins at me as the nanny calms down.

"Aubri, sit properly." I sigh and cross my ankles, my back straight. My big green dress balloons around me. Our nanny, a tall, skinny woman with a head of red hair, is always insistent on me being a lady. That means lessons on posture (consisting of me constantly dropping the book off of my head), proper tea manners (pinky out), and sitting properly. Sherlock also undergoes gentlemen training; he learned how to seat a lady at a table (he usually struggles to push me in), holding doors for people (it usually shuts in my face and once came close to squeezing my fingers), and how to escort a lady (always ending in a fight between us).

After many trips to the window so Sher can deposit bugs and flowers outside, the nanny deems us ready for the tea. She forcibly takes my hand (I had my arms crossed in defiance in front of me) and makes Sherlock escort me to the patio. From across the house, I can hear the chatter of mom’s society friends, gossiping and giggling. I look at me nanny with my best ‘are you kidding me’ face, but she ignores me.

We eventually come to the patio, filled with ladies in white dresses and flower-bedecked hats, their perfumes mingling as I scrunch my nose. Mumsy glances at us, a sigh of relief coming out as she scans us from hair to shoes. The nanny leaves us there, with a quickly whispered, “behave, you two.” I glare at Mycroft as I go to my seat, watching my oldest brother leap up to pull out my seat for me, looking at Sherlock with a haughty air. Sher looks at his brother, his fingers curling in and out of a fist. Ms. Scott, who is seated next to me, intervenes with a question. I look at her, and she repeats the question. “What were you and Sherlock up to, Aubri?” I make an ‘oh!’ face, and reply, “We were rolling down the hill and pretending to be pirates, Miss Scott.” I smile at her, thankful for the interruption that stopped the war about to break out behind me. Sherlock clears his throat, walking to his seat, and Mycroft goes to his seat. Ms. Scott likes Sherlock and I, always trying to keep us out of trouble at the required society events that my brothers and I were herded along to.

She and a few others laugh, and I relax as a teacup of apple juice is set in front of me. Mum was constantly trying to make me like tea, or to at least drink it, but I resisted every effort. Sherlock joked I was switched at birth and wasn’t British; he and Mycroft had both accepted tea early in their lives. I meet Sher’s eyes over my teacup, from across the table, and I nearly choke as he pulls a funny face. I glare at him until Mum taps me lightly under the table with her foot.

As I sit there, my back straight and my pinky out when I take a sip from my teacup, I strain my ears for daddy’s car. I watch Sherlock as he begins to get antsy, and nearly giggle at the expression on Mycroft’s face as he watches his little brother. I prepare to witness a fight between my crazy brothers, when the rumbling of an engine echo around the patio. My two brothers and I look expectantly at mum, who nods, dismissing us.  
I hike up the skirt on my dress, trying to outrace Sherlock as we run to the front of the house. Daddy’s vintage car is just pulling in as Sher and I arrive breathless to the front porch. I look up expectantly at him, knowing a big sweeping hug would come, with him slipping us little sweets from his pockets.

Except he continues past where my brothers and I are, not even acknowledging us. Sherlock’s smile slips to a frown, and his eyes grow as his mind works. I stand there, tapping my foot, waiting for my brother to come to a conclusion. He glances at me, his voice soft as he tells me, “I...I think daddy lost his job, Aubri.” I jump out of my skin when the front door opens again, and Mum looks out at us as if we are conspiring. Her mouth is shut in a grim line as she looks at us, silently reprimanding Sherlock from speaking before saying, “I want you three to go to your rooms, and stay there.” We meekly comply, trooping into the house in single file. My room is the first one in the hallway upstairs, and I look at Sherlock and wink three times before shutting the door. Once inside, I quickly change back into jeans and a worn t-shirt, waiting for Sherlock to crawl in through the ceiling.

He lands seconds later on the stack of pillows I keep for this very purpose, a cap pulled over his curly hair. Mycroft peeks out of the hole, trying to make up his mind. “Mumsy said to-” he tries to say in a whisper, but I shush him. His head pulls back from the hole, as if he is returning through the secret passageway to his room, and I softly call after him, “Mycro’s a scaredy pants!” That makes his head appear at the hole again as he makes a face at me before leaping down onto the pillows.

Sherlock in the lead, we slowly creep to my wardrobe, opening it. Pushing past the dresses that smell of mothballs, we find the opening, dropping into the enclosure one by one. When I had discovered this particular room, Mycroft had likened it to the wardrobe in Narnia. I stifle a scream as Mycroft hurriedly crushes a spider. Sherlock puts his hand over my mouth, and then rolls up the covering on the grating overlooking the living room.  
Heated voices arguing float up to us as we listen. When we heard my name, the tension in the tiny room increases.

“Aubri needs to be ready to enter the upper side of society. She needs to go to an all-girls private school.”

“No, Arthur, she needs to be free and grow up around other people!”

“Oh, so your etiquette training is helping her do that? Become an individual?”

Mother sniffed before replying, “She needs to know some etiquette, but I think schooling for it is absurd in modern day times!”

My brothers hold their breath as a silence stretches out. My heart is thudding. I certainly do not want to be sent to some snobby school- my blood turned icey at the thought- and have to leave my brothers behind.  
“Patricia, Sherlock and even Mycroft are bad influences on Aubri. She needs to grow up separate from them, even if only for the duration of the school year.”

“If you’re going to insist on this, Arthur, she may grow up independently from the rest of you!” This was met by a deep silence, then footsteps on the stairs. My brothers and I scrambled out of the room, past the coats, and into my room. Mycroft leapt up into the hole, scrambling to get in as Sherlock prepared to jump. The footsteps got closer, and Sherlock jumped up, despite Mycroft still squeezing through it. I watched Sherlock shove his brother through the hole, scurrying into it and putting in the false cover for it just as my doorknob turns. I stand there awkwardly as Mum storms in, taking in the dirt trail from my wardrobe to the stack of pillows. She sighs, massaging her eyes as she calls out, “Mycroft and Sherlock, please come back this instant.” I hear a muttered debate going on above me, before the cover over the hole is moved away and my brothers pop through and onto the pillows.

“Children,-” At this, we all tense. Mother never called us children unless the news was bad. She continues as we exchanged worried glances, “Your father and I have had a disagreement, and I want you all to know we may need to leave this house if he refuses to change his position. I also want you to know I love you dearly.” We all nod, getting weak responses out before my two brothers jump back up into the hole, disappearing from sight.  
Instead of walking out of my room, mum walks to my closet and pulled out my suitcase, which she begins packing with clothes. "Aubri, go get your toiletries from the water closet," she said as she quickly glanced at me. I swallow my questions, going out and getting my toiletries. Before going back to my room, I knock SOS on Sherlock's door.

When I walk back into my bedroom, nearly all of my possessions are in my flowery suitcase. Gingerly putting my toiletries bag on top and zipping the suitcase, I sit down on my bed in shock.I am running away from father and my two brothers.

Mum comes to the doorway, her face wrinkled in worry. I haul my bag off of the bed, rolling it behind me as I go to mum. As we go down the hallway, I look back at Sherlock, exchanging a single sad look with him before he shuts his door quietly.

As we exit the long, slopping driveway, I began weeping softly and I hear my mum inhale sharply as we plod along. I lose track of time as we walk into the city, me weepin the whole way. Eventually, we arrive at a decrepit building adorned with peeling red paint. She knocks on it, and another mother open the door. A little girl a bit older than me is peeking around her legs. "Oh, Patricia, how are you?" cries the stranger as the girl and I exchange glances. 

"Joy, how are you?" says my mother, her face stretching into a smile. "Good. But please come in!" At this, 'Joy' stands back, and I follow my mother into the old house. The inside is worn, crying for attention, but seems welcoming. I startle a bit when Joy’s hand comes down on my shoulder and she asks my mum, “Is this Aubrianna, why she’s grown so much!” My mother looked down at me and smiled, saying,"Yes. And is this....?" The little girl peaks around her mother's legs and suddenly hugs me as our mothers keep talking. I was to learn later that this girl was named Amelia.

I stand back from Amelia and rub my eyes, smiling at her. Even though I would miss my brothers, I might get used to living here. Amelia smiles back even brighter.  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------  



	2. Chapter 2

The streets are scary. Unfamiliar. My breath is somewhat ragged as I run. My growth spurt- I had just turned nine- makes every foot fall likely to make me topple. Yet I still stumble on. I can feel a pulling in my heart as I approach home. My real home. The place where Sher and Mycro are. I almost leap in joy as I come to the rolling grass of the field where Sherlock and I would play.

I halt when I saw someone approaching. The figure comes closer and closer, and I realize there is now more of Sher to take in. He had grown too, and was still very much taller than me. He stops about five yards from me, just standing and staring.

My grin disappears as I stared at the statue breathing before me. “Sher, wha..what’s happened to you?” I am able to stammer out. He replies, as if he is an automaton, “Aubri, I’m a sociopath. Diagnosed a year ago.” And before I have time to reply, or even come closer to me bigger brother, he turns away, leaving me shivering in the field. I watch his receding figure.

What happened to you Sher? I’m so sorry.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------  



	3. Chapter 3

“Mum,” I say simply as I lean against the doorway of her room. She holds up the index finger of her left hand. Wait. I groan, sliding down to the floor and stretching my legs out in front of me. I take out the pen in my pocket and began to draw on myself, trying to steady my nerve again for the question I have to ask. I glance at my mum. She is bent over a piece of paper, the pen scratching in a steady tempo. The window lights up her hair, creating a fair halo around her. This disappears, however, when she stands up and comes over to the doorframe to look down at me. “Aubri, please don’t tell me you've been drawing on yourself again,” she groans as she takes in my arms. I angelically smile at her before clearing my throat, breaking eyes contact, and half-stuttering, “Mum. We need to talk about why we left.”

She sighs, and lets a few minutes pass before saying, “I guess you deserve that. I’ll tell you, but only if you agree to not interrupt me. Okay?” I nod affirmative, and she continues after taking breaths as if steeling herself.  
“Aubrianna, when you were growing up, your father and I were worried about a trait he carries through his bloodline. The inclination of multiple social disorders. We watched Mycroft grow up and become distant and aloof. We worried when Sherlock began to show odd patterns of behavior. A inclination to fact instead of emotion. His lack of the latter was unlike that of Mycroft's; instead of aloof, it just....disappeared. When you came along, we hoped beyond hoping that you would be okay.”

“We watched you three, and I began to see traits forming in you that were unnatural. That was when I began to think you needed to leave home, thinking distance could bury it. Aubrianna, I hope you understand. Please tell me you do,” she finishes, her eyes pleading."

I sat back, taking this in. That reason was foolish. But what about that argument I had heard? "Mum, what about that argument....?" I trailed of. She took a deep breath before replying, "That was fake. I really would have sent you to private school if it wasn't for this problem you carry." Instead of persuading me, this argument was angering me.

"So tell me Mum, what is my problem?" She looked at me with sad eyes before saying, "You're inhumanly sympathetic. You feel other's emotion to strongly."

That’s it? I’m overly sympathetic?

I felt pain surge before it dissipated. Despite my best efforts, I never could stay angry. 

And also, against my wish, I felt a bit of sympathy replacing my dying anger and adrenaline. She did have reasons for tearing me out of my life with my brothers, but it still didn't justify her rash actions. 

I, not trusting myself to act civilly, slid up the door frame and walked to the room I shared with Amelia. I slammed the lime green door behind me, and threw myself on the bottom bunk. Tears, either of anger or of grief, weren't coming as I lay there in the silent room, the fan moving slowly above me. I heaved myself up and yawned, blinking a faint dampness back from my eyes. I forgot the faded blue walls, the gray carpet, the colorful rugs, the cardboard boxes stuffed with the toys Sherlock would find for me, and went back to those three precious years. My childhood. The life I led here did not count- I had grown up suddenly when I witnessed my first murder, around the age of seven. I didn't feel disgust anymore either. I was used to the sights of blood and the actions of hatred and coldness. 

The door clicked open, and I departed from my mesmare to see Amelia come in. She was a only a year older, but already much taller than me. The bed bopped me up a little as she sat down by me, leaning her head on my shoulder. 

“Aubri-”

I made an indistinct noise in response to tell her I was very definitely in the mood to talk. She hugged me as we sat in silence, her trying to comfort me as I tried to cry. She broke the silence again, saying, “I heard your conversation. I’m so sorry Aubri....”

“Yeah,” I mutter, twisting a thin silver ring on my index finger. 

“You know...” she trails off before beginning again. “Aubri..you are human. Don’t feel alienated from society. Ever.”

I gave her a thin smile. “Thanks.”

She stood up again and stretched before walking to the bookshelf to grab a book. Amelia paused at the door, looking back and offering a smile before going out and shutting the door with a soft click. Rain fell against the glass, and I laid back, falling asleep in the silence and coldness of the room.


	4. Chapter 4

I was awakened from my nightmare by frantic knocking on my door before I saw it swinging open as I sat up groggily to come face-to-face with Joy.

****

Her forehead, although always wrinkled, was even more so as she took steadying breaths.

****

I just waited patiently as she stood there, looking anxious and afraid.

****

Amelia ran in behind her and blurted out, "Your mum's up and run away, Aub."

****

"What?"

****

"Your mum's gone, Aubri. "

\---------------------------------------------

Sherlock slowly stood up walked back up the muddy hill with his jar of pond water, filled to the brim with shiny silver fish. As he rounded a corner of dense foliage, he ran into Mycroft and ended up shattering the glass, spilling fish and murky water down both of them.

****

"You blundering idiot! That was for a very important experiment."

****

The older of the Holmes sighed before replying in an even tone, “Sherlock, you need to eat. You’ve been concentrating too hard on your work and haven’t eaten for a day and a half.”

****

“It stalls my mental processing rate! I am currently keeping myself adequately hydrated to stay healthy and concentrated.”

****

“You’ve brought this upon yourself, Sherlock...” and Mycroft bent down and threw his now very squirmy brother over his shoulder.

****

“You...you blockhead! If you do not let me down this instant, I will hide pickled tadpoles in your pillow or in your soup, even though you wouldn’t notice it amongst your vegetables, nitwit!”

****

Sherlock continued to yell at Mycroft the whole way to the house, beating his fists and kicking his legs, making it necessary for the carrier to tighten his hold to two hands. With a sigh of relief, they reached the door and Mycroft kicked it while holding on even tighter, as Sherlock was now fighting to get away.

****

“Oh, my. What have you done now Sherlock?”

****

AC wafted out into the humid, hot summer air as Mycroft and Sherlock looked at their stepmother.

****

“He needs food. Imagine a lot of cooking and preparing before we find something he’ll settle for.”

****

She stepped back daintily, opening the door wide enough to allow the width of a resigned Sherlock and the wide-shouldered brother-keeper through into the cleanly swept interior. Mycroft glanced down at the mud he was tracking in, mouthing sorry before walking to the kitchen, hearing his stepmother’s light footsteps behind him.

****

“Macaroni and cheese?”

****

“That is completely unhealthy! I would not benefit from that.”

****

“Salad?”

****

“I cannot survive on the substances of a rabbit’s diet.”

****

“Rice with white cheese sauce?”

****

“What kind of suggestion is-”

****

Sherlock stopped mid-denial as he saw the frame of his father coming in.

****

A tall, balding man of forty-six, Arthur Holmes was evidently shocked. “Boys, your mother has been reported missing, and Aubri...”

****

“Aubrianna’s dead?” Sherlock blurted before realizing what he had said, glancing around and taking in everyone’s reactions. His stepmother, covering her mouth and her eyes wide. Mycroft, pale white and hanging onto the counter. And his father, wincing and guilty looking.

****

They stood in heavy silence before father cleared his throat and said, “Suspected. Not confirmed, Sherlock.”

****

The youngest in the room got up and walked out, watched by everyone with sad eyes. He could feel a bit of emotion and wildness trying to come out, but suppressed it as he walked to his place of solitude where he felt closest to his late sister: the little room behind her wardrobe. The darkness and the piles of coats gave him a place to cry as he wished he had stopped her all those days ago when she was following mum’s orders.

 


	5. Chapter 5

“You two. Cheer up now, we might be having guests soon.”

****

I just slumped further into my chair, grumbling as Joy clunked a plate of buttered toast in front of me.

****

"Have you two done your homework?"

****

Amelia and I tried to not exchange guilty glances, but our eyes shifted enough to cause her mum to notice with her sixth sense.

****

"I told you two to study history! Why do you never listen to me, Amelia Charity Smith and Aubrianna Maren Ho-"

****

The doorbell rang, and we all jumped. Amelia and I stumbled over each other as we scrambled up the stairs, out of sight of the door. We waited breathlessly as we heard the deep rumble of a man’s voice and the higher, Irish accent of Joy. I heard “Holmes” and jumped as I strained my ears even more.

****

“Thank you, Ms. Smith. Goodbye. Stay warm.”

****

The door shut with a click and I lay down in exaggerated relief.

****

“Children-” we both looked at her, and she revised, “Fine, teenagers. Go to your rooms before the people come over.”

****

Amelia dragged me off of the floor and helped me stand up as we walked to our bedroom. As soon as the door closed behind us, I stumbled to the window to see a greyish-blonde man walking away. I didn’t know who it was.

****

“Amelia, who do you think that was?”

****

“I dunno...” she vaguely said as she settled down with a pile of books by her side.

****

I hoped he hadn’t been inquiring about my disappearance..

 


	6. Chapter 6

“Mycroft, listen to me.”

 

Mycroft could see the tall, lanky frame of his younger brother over the book he was reading, 1984. With a sigh, he carefully put in a bookmark and set in on the table next to him. “Yes?”

 

“I’ve decided that I need to go into the world to further my studies and escape the restrictive bonds of this home.”

 

“You’re thinking of running away?” Mycroft shouted, his heart now leaping a little as he stared at Sherlock’s impassive face.

 

“The idiot understood my words. But no, I am not thinking of it, or considering it, or regarding it. I have packed my bags, and I need your help to find the fine details that would take too many of brain cells to painstakingly sort that out.”

 

“If- and only if, you do, you’re living with me until I deem you ready.”

 

“Myc-”

 

Mycroft just gave his brother a stern look over the book he had just picked up again, and Sherlock sighed in exasperation.

 

“Fine. But I require a voluminous space to conduct experiments.”

 

“Noted.”

 

“A room with good acoustics for my violin practices-”

 

“Noted.”

 

“And-”

 

“Sherlock, don’t make me change my mind.”

 

“Okay, just don’t forget to-”

 

Another glance over the worn pages of the book made Sherlock turn heel as he realized retreat was the best way to win.

 

Mycroft waited until he knew his brother would be out of earshot before sighing again and rubbing the top of his nose. He had tried to keep Sherlock’s life as normal as he could, while still encouraging his intelligence that bubbled up new ideas constantly, some bad, some hazardous, but some..bloody brilliant. Their sister leaving had hindered this development. Sherlock had turned inwards, had hidden his emotions.

 

Yet he knew it wasn’t hopeless. Out there, people existed who could save Sherlock. From his mind frame and his unintentional, and slow, suicide.


	7. Chapter 7

"This is ridiculous, Sherlock," Mycroft said as he gazed around at the heaps of boxes and bags that composed what appeared to be everything but his little brother's laboratory sink.

****

"The furnishing in the house we will be sharing is insufficient. I require all my equipment and belongings."

****

"Fine, just as long as you help me carry- yes, you, carry them to the car."

****

Sherlock walked over to the smallest bag, picking it up and grinning innocently at his older brother, who tried to silently reprimand with a withering look before straining to pick up a large bag filled with what sounded like metal instruments. The two trooped past their father's office, physically feeling the mixed feelings coming through the locked doors.

****

The long car slowly became full, until the huge bags they had both been avoiding were the only ones left. Sherlock had run off ahead of him, and Mycroft came into the sparse room that had been his little brother’s to find him just standing in front of them.

****

“Wait.”

****

Sherlock’s tone was short and impassive, and Mycroft could hear his mind’s gears turning.

****

“Not another brilliant idea of yours. Just grab a bag and let’s go.”

******  
  
**

‘Do not speak in such a condescending tone to me!”

******  
  
**

“Fine. What’s the plan, brain-man?” Mycroft tried to ask in an sarcastic tone, his hands resting in his pockets.

****

Sherlock just looked up from where he was resting his chin on his fist’s thumb, giving the smile that always slightly scared Mycroft.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“A hook there.....and that’ll work. This is brilliant!”

****

Mycroft forgot his tendency to reprimand his brother’s over-inflated self-esteem, marveling silently in the system of pulleys and strings that Sherlock had devised. And were already in work as Sherlock started to scramble around and attach hooks here and there.

****

“Ready, brother?”

****

Mycroft stepped back, edging the Ming dynasty vase back from the slide zone.

****

“Ready.”

****

“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”

****

Sherlock had forgotten to let go when he had pushed the bag forward, and was now scrambling to situate his tall frame to a horizontal position on top of the suitcase. He saw Mycroft laughing, and took a swipe as he went pass the room’s doorway,  turning around and shaking his fist when he missed.

****

“It worked! It worked!

****

“What is all this racket?”

****

“The walls!”

****

Mycroft walked in the from entryway to find the too ordinary scene of his father angry, his stepmother shocked, and Sherlock trying to look innocent as best as he could, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he sat on top of the humongous suitcase.

****

“Mycroft, what is the meaning of this?”

******  
  
**

Three pairs of eyes looked at him, angry, pleading, and shocked. The pleading one, Sherlock, was accompanied by hand gestures behind the two adult’s back and mouthed words, both of which Mycroft ignored.

****

“There is not much damage to the walls, father, but Sherlock devised this system of ropes,” he gestured to the thick ropes over his head, “to keep us from injuring ourselves with these bags.”

****

“There’s another one...” Mr. Holmes trailed off, obviously trying his best to not show whatever emotion was right under his face’s skin and muscles.

****

They stood in silence for an awkward minute before Mr. Holmes walked away with a sign and the wave of his hands. With one glance as her stepsons, their stepmother followed him to his study.

****

The devious grin Sherlock gave the older of the two Holmes sent shivers down his spine in its maliciousness.

****

Soon enough, Sherlock was whooping down the hallways on the second bag, and Mycroft smiled inwardly. Leaving might be best for his brother’s mental development. He hated this job of his brother’s keeper, but hoped a new location would make it easier. Maybe they could advance to social development, if Sherlock got over his ego.

 


	8. Chapter 8

 

_**BANG.** _

 

The shots rang right outside of our home, and I huddled closer to Amelia, shivering in the draft under the bed. She was weeping slightly in fear as I strained my ears for the next shot. We waited silently for ten minutes, listening to Joy shift her weight outside our doorway, where she was guarding us, gun in hand.

 

The fight had seemingly started innocently enough when I was walking back from the ‘library’ with a stack of books. An asian with shaggy hair had started arguing with a shorter, but more muscle-bound local, who shoved the asian hard onto the ground. From there, it had escalated as I was edging around them,  to stay out of the fight and not lose any of the books that I had just rented from the mock library ten doors down.

 

**_BANG._ **

 

I hated gunshots more than anything. Thunderstorms, yelling, everything quelled in the ringing sound brought after a close-range shot. I had dropped me books, I remember, but I became so dazed that I don’t know how I picked the books up, navigated around the fight’s circumference, got to my house, said, “I’m fine” to Joy, and got upstairs to hide alongside Amelia.

 

I could still hear it in this silence. The ringing.

 

But then we heard a new sound. Someone was scrambling to get in. There were no gunshots. Silence hung as if the whole street was holding its breath collectively. A squeak rang out in the tension as Joy shifted her feet.

 

“Who’s there?”

 

No answer.

 

I tried to scramble farther under the bed as the stairs creaked.

 

“What’s in there?”

 

“My life. Which you’ll cross mine before I allow you to enter.”

 

Amelia hissed at me as I maneuvered under the bed to reach the box. I shushed her as her eyes grew wide. Inside was an assortment of pocket knives and daggers that I had fished out of garbage cans. I chose a short one, about five inches long, and weighed it in my hands.  

 

The floorboard squeaked again as I heard Amelia’s mum call out, “Not one more step.”

 

A rebellious squeak of floor boards cut through the heavy silence. I had to  suppress a cry when Amelia elbowed me. We then had a silent argument as the floorboards protested outside.

 

-Do even know how to use that?

 

-Trained myself. So yes.

 

-I can't believe you!!

 

-Shut up.

 

-I haven't said anything!

 

I covered her mouth with my free hand, gesturing to the door with my head. She nodded with wide eyes. As we waited in the deathly silence, the two of us started to shake.

 

**_BANG._ **

 

I yelled in shock, bumping my head on the bed frame. Through tears in my eyes, I slid out from under the bed, knife in hand. I waited for any hint of who had met the bullet. As the silence dragged out, I took careful, weighted steps to the door, ignoring Amelia's hissing.

 

The doorknob was cold. I leaned in, pressing the door into its frame to prevent squeaking. As the door swung open, I felt the blood drain my face.

 

The local, a man named Ed, and Joy, dropped like rag dolls, dead.

 

I hoped Amelia wasn't looking this way, as she could certainly see the morbid view.

 

A shocked cry told me she had seen it from under the bed.

 

I stepped into the hallway, walking around the bodies, walking down the steps in a daze. My ears were ringing. A police officer came running over as I stumbled out of the house into the cold winter air.

 

"Ma'am- ma'am- are you okay?"

 

I nodded yes and pointed to my house. He clapped me on the shoulder before running in with his gun raised. I wanted to yell out my friend was in there. I wanted to yell to him to put away his gun.

 

Another one ran up and tried to remove the knife from my hands. I repeated no while shaking my head, nearly falling down by this point.

 

"We need an ambulance! This girl is in shock!"

 

Through the white fog, I felt my heart contract with fear. Adrenaline coursed through me, and I pulled out of the officer's grasp and started to run. To where, I didn't know. I just repeated, 'Sherlock can't find me. He can't,' as if it was a mantra. It came steady with the beat of my footsteps, and I started crying.

 

_My life is, and seems it will be, a mess._

 


	9. Chapter 9

“Mycroft, your focus on domestic skills is demeaning to my mental abilities!”

 

"Sherlock, please, for the love of- Just cook the egg!”

 

The younger Holmes scowled at Mycroft from across the counter, turning back up the stove's heat until he heard the oil sizzling in the black frying pan.

 

Mycroft tried to not laugh at the intense stare the egg was getting from Sherlock as he tried to cook it. After his brother had told him he wanted to live alone as he was, "to old to live with his older brother like some one of the generally poorer and less intellectual masses," Mycroft had told him he had to prove he could. Thus, the cooking lessons. Of which toast had been burned and belligerent comments to the food had been issued as every possible thing went wrong.  

 

"One thing's for certain here, Sherlock, you won't be a chef. I know how much that bashes your dreams."

 

Mycroft dodged the rubbery boiled egg hat was thrown at him, deciding Sherlock was provoked enough for now. Because he knew that underneath that scowling exterior was a broiling interior. People thought he was just being a boy, checking out other girls (and getting some giggles) when in reality, he was looking foolishly for Aubrianna. It had been about five years, and Mycroft still marveled at the emotions that flickered under his brother’s ‘sociopath’ demeanor. He himself had moved on, feeling a tiny ache in heart every now and then.

 

“Here. Do I pass?”

 

Mycroft nervously eyed the partially burnt omelette sizzling in the freshly washed plate. It seemed innocuous, so he picked up the fork, delicately cutting of a piece and eating it.

 

“Good, or at least adequate, just a bit burnt.”

 

Sherlock aimed the spatula he had been holding into the sink, not waiting to see if it made it before struggling to untie the knot he had in the apron that Mycroft had insisted he wear, throwing it away from himself in frustration. Mycroft watched as his little brother straightened up to his tall, lanky height, brushing off his clothing and wiping emotion from his face before walking out of the kitchen.

 

“Sherlock?”

 

“Yes?”

 

Sherlock had his back to Mycroft, and had paused in the entryway to the living room.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

Sherlock turned his head to look straight into Mycroft’s eyes with a look of controlled confusion.

 

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

 

Aubrianna’s name was on the tip of his tongue, but as he stared back into his brother’s face, he saw the words spelled out, painfully, in his brother’s blank face.

  
_We have no sister._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should/could this be the end? Or should it have more?


End file.
